Hearing the Music

Diminisher or Illuminator?

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Perhaps you know the story that is sometimes told of Jennie Jerome, who later became Winston Churchill’s mother. It’s said that when she was young, she dined with the British statesman William Gladstone and left thinking he was the cleverest person in England. Later she dined with Gladstone’s great rival, Benjamin Disraeli, and left that dinner thinking she was the cleverest person in England. It’s nice to be like Gladstone, but it’s better to be like Disraeli.

Such is the point made by David Brooks in his new book, How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen. Brooks sees the world a little like this, "In every crowd there are Diminishers and there are Illuminators. Diminishers make people feel small and unseen. They see other people as things to be used, not as persons to be befriended. They stereotype and ignore. They are so involved with themselves that other people are just not on their radar screen. Illuminators, on the other hand, have a persistent curiosity about other people. They have been trained or have trained themselves in the craft of understanding others. They know what to look for and how to ask the right questions at the right time. They shine the brightness of their care on people and make them feel bigger, deeper, respected, lit up."

My guess is that your mind started rifling through people in your sphere and began to place people in categories. It is not that diminshers are necessarily bad people, but we certainly know when we have been in the presence of an illuminator, and it is sweet. Perhaps you next started to give yourself a personal inventory. Am I a diminisher or an illuminator? Is it that black and white? What about specific interactions that I have had recently? Did people walk away thinking about me, or did they leave feeling better about themselves?

It probably is not as black and white as dividing the world into diminshers and illuminators. It is probably more fair to say that some among us tend toward the diminishing side, while others trend toward illuminating. It is probably even more accurate to acknowledge that over the course of any given day we have a multitude of interactions, some in which we diminish our neighbor, and others in which our neighbor is illuminated. While that is a bit discouraging, it is also encouraging, because it means we are not stuck in a category, we can grow! Brooks puts it this way, " Being an Illuminator, seeing other people in all their fullness, doesn’t just happen. It’s a craft, a set of skills, a way of life. Other cultures have words for this way of being. The Koreans call it nunchi, the ability to be sensitive to other people’s moods and thoughts. The Germans (of course) have a word for it: herzensbildung, training one’s heart to see the full humanity in another." If you really want to dig into acting more like an illuminator, I would recommend Brooks book. But for today, maybe it is enough to pay attention to our interactions aware of the possibility of diminishing or illuminating.

Let me make one last connection. The basis for all illuminating is the Gospel. The Gospel is the truth that Jesus as the only begotten Son of God allowed himself the ultimate diminishment so that we, his adopted daughters and sons, could be fully illuminated. This is the message of the book of Hebrews that we have been studying. It is the message of our passage this week as we come to chapter 12:18-24. In these verses the preacher increases the wattage of Gospel truth, so that his congregation might radiate all the confidence, love, peace, and joy that being known by God offers. How do you illuminate in a world of Roman oppression? By focusing on the deepest truths of the Gospel. How do you illuminate in a world of political divisions, mental health crisis, and relational breakdowns? By focusing on the deepest truths of the Gospel.

 

Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

 

Looking at You

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The story is told of a conversation between an 18th century priest and an elderly peasant. The priest was perplexed by the peasant who would sit alone for long hours in the quiet of the church. When the priest asked what he was doing, the old man simply replied, "I look at him. He looks at me, and we are happy."

There is a simplicity to the life of the peasant in the story that appeals to me. Perhaps because it feels as if it is a quality of life that is so foreign to where I am currently with a schedule filled with duties, obligations, meetings and events. Maybe it is the perceived quality in the relationship between the old man and his God that strikes a chord of longing in my own soul. Or greater still, perhaps it is the notion that as much as I could be happy beholding God, he could be happy beholding me?

Whatever it is that strikes a chord, I know there is a beauty here that accords with Scripture. We see it in Jesus inviting all who labor and are heavy laden, to come to him and find rest. (Matthew 11:28). We hear it in David speaking of his contentment in the Lord in terms of a child with his mother: "But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me. (Psalm 131:2)". Most profoundly we experience this beauty in the testimony of God toward his people: "The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing (Zephaniah 3:17)." It is not hard to see where the peasant is coming from, "I look at him. He looks at me, and we are happy."

The peasant, the scriptures, David, Jesus, each of them inviting me further up and farther in. I know I am a long way from fully realizing a relational sweetness that I believe to be true, but I also know that this vision, this invitation, is just that, an invitation. It is not unmeetable condition that would bear me down and crush me. It is not a command that if obeyed is rewarded. But rather it is a light in the darkness, a cool drink on a hot day, a soft bed after hard labor. Holy Spirit, draw us all deeper! 

 

Photo by Karl Fredrickson on Unsplash

Leaving Them to the Lord

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As we continue through Hebrews, we are continually called to fix our eyes on Jesus who has championed our cause (2:10) and is the forerunner (6:20) who has gained heaven for his people. This week yet again (Hebrews 12:3–11), we will be encouraged to consider him (12:3) as we endure (12:7) the various trials that come our way. While we will dive into a broader taxonomy of suffering on Sunday, I want to pause and think about a particular trial that many of us endure, namely adult children who are not walking with the Lord.

There is very little pain like the pain of a child who does not know the sweetness of the Lord that we have come to cherish. Whether, due to circumstances, they have never walked with the Lord, or they have over the course of their lives left a childhood faith, our hearts break over their loss.  Those who have made a profession of faith in the past, gone on missions, showed fruit of a truly converted heart and relationship with God, but now are cold or embittered are especially difficult. How do we navigate such loss and disappointment? Is there any hope? I am not proposing a complete treatise on the subject but pray a couple of thoughts will both correlate with the message of Hebrews and offer some hope for drooping hearted parents.

Let us start with the fruit that we have observed in our kids lives when they were young. I sometimes wonder if, even we — card carrying, saved-by-grace-not-by-works, Reformed Christians — look too much to observable fruit as the basis of our hope? Ultimately the fruit produced in any life is the overflow of rootedness in Christ and is only produced in its season. The problem is, if we only look to the production of our lives, we are essentially trusting in works. While I wholeheartedly endorse a striving to produce fruit in keeping with repentance, we dare not base hope of salvation on the fruit produced, or the lack of fruit observed. Even our own professions of faith, while important and called for, are in themselves insufficient to hang our assurance on.  

The trap for parents is that if we solely look to our children for indications of salvation, either good or bad, we are going to bounce between despair or denial. So where do we look? Like Job (cf. Job 1:5), we keep holding them before the Throne of Grace. Their salvation is in the hands of the Lord. If God has set his love on them: addiction or bitterness, depression or profligacy will not be the end of their story. Perhaps in the end the only “fruit" that they will show will be a cry of “Lord, help me …" from the midst of the pigsty. But it is enough. It was enough for the dying thief who was held by the Lord throughout his life, only to produce fruit at the very end; his season was incredibly short.

So where does this leave us? It leaves us to throw ourselves on our very benevolent, long suffering, compassionate God. When YHWH shows himself to Moses in the context of the Israelites idolatry with the golden calf this, is how he introduces himself: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation.” (Exodus 34:6–7). Sometimes we get fixated on the last clauses, "who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation” and miss the whole point that in the context of a rebellious people, the Lord’s mercy, compassion and steadfast love are what are on display. John Calvin rightly comments that when we read these verse correctly we see the mercy of God that dwarfs his retribution. That is who He is. This is His very big heart.

If you carry these wounds, Hebrews is inviting you to endure. Where does our strength come from? Ultimately, we are strengthened when we hold these beloved children - their spirit, their bodies, their smiles, their tears, their successes, their failures, all of it - before the Lord. He after all created them. He after all came to earth on a rescue mission. He after all is capable of loving them far more than we ever could. But does he? Here is a mystery we cannot penetrate. I trust Him. I see His heart. All that is necessary will be. And in the end, all will be well.

 

Photo by Jad Limcaco on Unsplash

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